


Birth

by callmechristinae



Series: Livejournal Migration [6]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-06
Updated: 2006-02-06
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmechristinae/pseuds/callmechristinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One wouldn’t think a bar could see the birth of so many things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birth

_Mid-1986_  
  
A pair of blue eyes searched through the haze of the bar, drifting over the sweaty bodies on the dance floor. The cheap colored lights reflected off the haze of the room, the cigarette smoke making it hard to breathe. Shouts for drinks could barely be heard over the pounding music, causing a throbbing in the young man’s head. His friend was late, as usual, and he was stuck in this hole in the wall bar by himself. Sipping gingerly at his beer mug, he was, after all, in a bar, his eyes floated over the writhing bodies as “Livin’ On A Prayer” floated through the air.  
  
His eyes fell on a young couple near the middle of the dance floor, a petite read headed girl with a punk blonde. He recognized the man from a few gigs he had been dragged to and found himself staring as the two danced. Their arms were tangled around each other, their bodies flush together to the point where you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. They gazed intently into each other’s eyes, both sweaty and pupils wider than normal, whether it was from the darkness of the room or something else, Mark couldn’t tell. They whispered to each other gently, the man oblivious as the girl pulled a small packet from his back pocket.  
  
Mark continued to focus on the young couple, ignoring the fact that the girlfriend who had recently left him was nearby with her new man. His friend had meant to take him to the bar tonight to cheer him up but, strangely enough, Mark didn’t feel he needed any help. Usually breakups devastated him, especially when he discovered that the girl had moved on long before the actual breakup. This one left him with a strange sense of serenity. The moon continued to glow, his pulse continued to beat, and life continued to go on. He wasn’t going to die without her because, as his mother said, “there are other fishies in the sea.”  
  
“ _I decided long ago never to walk in anyone's shadow. If I fail, if I succeed at least I'll live as I believe. No matter what they take from me, they can't take away my dignity._ ”  
  
Whitney Houston’s voice soared above the crowd from the speakers, and the dancers slowed to a smooth sway. Mark watched the couple break apart, looking around uncomfortably at the pairs around them. The girl rubbed the inside of her elbow nervously before making her way out the back door, watched the whole time by her partner. The man stood silently for a moment before making his way over to the bar. Mark swiveled quickly in his stool back towards the bar, trying not to move as the man reached over his shoulder to get the bartender’s attention. He could not, however, ignore it when the man leaned over to look into his face.  
  
“Hey! You’re Mark, right? Benny’s friend?” the man asked, poking him in the shoulder. Mark nodded quietly, looking away. The man pulled at his shoulder, turning Mark back to face him. Mark looked hesitantly into the green eyes staring back at him, no longer with the widened pupils. “C’mon,” Roger said, pulling Mark along by his arm. “Let’s go to the Life and get some grub.”  
  
And a friendship was born.  
  
 _Early 1989_  
  
The three friends danced spastically around the dance floor, frightening a few of the underage patrons along the way. The tall professor had the excuse of being drunk, the rocker had the excuse of enjoying scaring people, but the young filmmaker was simply a bad dancer. It was a short visit for Collins, a holiday from his work at MIT. As they always did when they had free time to spend together, the three friends had made their way to the bar a few blocks away from the loft.  
  
The three Bohemians leapt about the dance floor, their shouts to each other going unheard as the repetitive strains of the B-52s’ “Love Shack” drowned out most of the noise in the bar. The professor soon fell to the floor, any control over his balance fleeing his body quickly. The other two friends continued to dance, the smaller of the two leaping onto the other’s back. Roger spun around, holding onto Mark’s knees to keep the filmmaker from falling to the ground.  
  
Once the song ended, Mark leapt to the floor, racing over to where Collins was sitting on the floor. Roger attempted to follow him, not quite fitting through the spaces that Mark did. Together the two pulled their friend up, depositing him in an out of the way table closer to the bar. They set a glass of water in front of him, along with a stolen bag of peanuts. Collins always seemed to have a craving for them when he was completely trashed, which he was.   
  
Once they determined the philosopher was alright on his own, they moved swiftly back to the dance floor. Their bodies were thrumming with unspent energy, their muscles twitching as they bounced along with the other people on the dance floor. To their disappointment, the haunting opening notes of Madonna’s “Like A Prayer” floated out. Not quite the head thumping song they had been hoping for, but it would have to do. There was no getting back out of the crowd for a while.  
  
“ _I hear your voice, it's like an angel sighing. I have no choice, I hear your voice. Feels like flying I close my eyes, Oh God I think I'm falling. Out of the sky, I close my eyes. Heaven help me._ ”  
  
Mark was pressed into Roger by the crowd, suddenly uncomfortable this close to his friend. It wasn’t a new situation, living with someone for this long inevitably led to close contact. This stirring in his stomach was something new though. He looked around rapidly, searching the crowd for an escape.  
  
“Hey, Mark. You okay?” Roger asked, his arm wrapping gently around Mark’s neck from behind to pull them closer. The rational side of Mark’s brain told him that Roger just wanted to be sure the young filmmaker could hear him, but the other was hoping for something more.  
  
And a crush was born.  
  
 _Late 1992_  
  
Two friends sat at the bar, one mourning an ended love affair and the other simply providing company. Mimi was likely out on a date with her new boyfriend, oblivious to Roger’s pain. Roger had told her that he understood, that he was alright with her decision to end their romance, that he could look back on their time together without any pain. It was obvious that he hadn’t been truthful. Why else would he be hunched over a beer mug at a low end bar? Why else would Mark be staring at him with that soft look of pity in his eyes?   
  
The sounds of the latest Michael Jackson hit had sent the dance floor into a frenzy being recorded by Mark’s ever present camera. After a few moments, Mark shut the camera off, slipping it back into his bag. Roger glanced over at the movement before returning his gaze to the mug in front of him. Mark rested a hand gently on his friend’s shoulder. Roger watched his friend out of the corner of his eye, his own hand clasping his friend’s.  
  
The two sat in silence. Well, in as much silence as was possible in a bar full of people. The two separated as a couple reached between them to draw the bartender’s attention. The small girl smiled at Roger as she leaned in, giggling as the man she was with pulled her away.  
  
Mark sighed as he watched Roger’s eyes follow the young couple with sadness in his eyes. With a slight hesitation he grabbed the leather arm and pulled his friend out to the dance floor, ignoring the painful possible outcomes flittering across his mind.  
  
Roger raised an eyebrow as Mark’s arms slipped around his neck. The rich voice of Whitney Houston floated around him, enveloping him in warmth. At least, that’s where he hoped the warmth was coming from.  
  
“ _And I will always love you. I will always love you. You, my darling you. Hmm._ ”  
  
Roger slipped his arms around Mark’s waist, holding him gently as they swayed to the music. He ignored the pain of the song, focusing solely on the love. He smiled as Mark’s head came down to rest on his shoulder. Mark fit perfectly into his arms, and Roger softly pressed his cheek to the filmmaker’s forehead. The two swayed for a few more minutes before Mark’s head lifted, his clear blue eyes focusing on Roger’s flushed face. Mark’s breath tickled his ear gently as the two pressed closer together, the crowd tightened around them. He smiled as Mark whispered into his ear, thoughts of Mimi finally floating away.  
  
And a relationship was born.  
  
 _Later 1992_  
  
The young men sat at the table, two of the few patrons at the bar that were aware of their surroundings. The janitor shuffled about the dance floor, sweeping up garbage from a busy night. The bar was strangely silent, with the exception of Collins’ snoring and Maureen and Joanne’s quiet bickering in the corner. The bartender glared at the group, wanting them to leave so that he could shut down for the night.  
  
Roger leaned back in the booth, watching Collins with amusement. He chuckled as Mark balanced a straw atop the philosopher’s head, causing the professor to twitch in his sleep. The straw wavered before dropping to the table. As Mark reached toward the straw to try again, Roger pulled the filmmaker back against his chest. The former front man pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Mark’s head, smiling into the soft blonde hair as Mark pulled Roger’s arms more securely around his waist. Roger watched as the filmmaker tenderly traced the veins on the back of his hands, a strange tingly feeling drifting up his spine. The two rested peacefully as they waited for Maureen and Joanne to come to whatever conclusion they were seeking, contently wrapped up in each other. Mark’s hands stilled atop Roger’s, his eyes closing in contentment as he rested. His body sank deeper into Roger’s embrace as the songwriter shifted, tucking Mark’s head under his chin and leaning back to stretch out in the booth.  
  
Collins’ snorted, waking himself up with a start. Once he had calmed down, taking in his surroundings with furious turns of his head, he gazed across the booth at his friends. Roger smiled at the soft gentle smile that came to his friend’s face, recognizing the look he got when thinking of Angel. The rocker looked back down at the man he held in his arms, feeling something that he had never quite felt before. Mark shifted, his eyes opening and looking up into Roger’s. They both felt the shift in their relationship as their lips met for a short gentle kiss.  
  
And a love was born, one that would last forever.


End file.
